


Healing

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [104]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 13:09:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17044334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: Claire stitches up Jamie, in the aftermath of the bear attack in 04x04.





	Healing

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/180556247916/healing-a-04x04-one-shot) on tumblr

Jamie hissed as the cool sting of Claire’s hooked needle pierced his arm.

“Stitches? I didna think the claw had gone so deep.”

Claire wordlessly poured more alcohol into the deep wound. Jamie clenched his teeth, but did not cry out.

“Are ye well, Uncle Jamie?” Ian’s eager voice floated across the clearing. Jamie raised his eyes just in time to see the lad set down his axe – blade first – and lean on the handle, panting over a half-hewn log.

“As well as can be – expected,” Jamie grimaced as Claire hooked a final stitch and tied off the suture.

Claire doused his arm with more alcohol, then brusquely turned his torso to face hers. Her touch was clearly that of a healer – set to her work – and decidedly *not* that of a relieved wife.

Now she reached for the rag boiling in the cauldron over the fire, wrung it out, and set to dabbing at the blood on his chest.

“I dinna think it’s mine, Sassenach.” His voice was low, eyes crossing slightly as his gaze settled in the part of her hair. Secretly delighting in the dozens of gray strands that glinted in the early afternoon light.

She didn’t respond – just continued to wipe him clean of blood and leaves and grime.

He let her, for a while.

“Keep at that log, *a charaid*,” he chided Ian. “Dinna want to lose the whole day’s work.”

Ian straightened and lifted the axe. “Aye, Uncle,” he replied, and soon the hearty thwack of axe strokes echoed across the clearing once more.

Claire moved his head to one side, dipped the rag in the boiling water, and scrubbed around his jaw and ear. He hissed at the heat of it.

“I remember a foolish young man, many years ago, who in an attempt to win his freedom rashly served as second in a duel in which he had no rightful role.”

She didn’t respond. He thought about reaching out to stop her, reconsidered, and sat up straighter.

“And I also remember a headstrong young woman, a rare fine healer who happened to be his verra new wife, who was sore displeased wi’ him when he limped home, needing her to patch him up.”

She straightened his collar. Set to wiping along his wide, sweeping forehead, right at the hairline.

“I thought you were dead.”

He sighed. “Claire – ”

“You didn’t come back. You left with a rifle, to chase after a bear. With the Cherokee in the woods. I can’t track like you can, not yet – and Ian can’t, either. Especially in the dark.”

Her voice was as cold as the rag brushing down the bridge of his nose.

“I couldn’t sleep after you left. I lay there worrying, and thinking about which direction I’d go first, to find you. Whether it would be safe to bring a torch.”

Now he did reach out for her – gently resting his bloody hand – the knuckles all bruised and swollen – on the curve of her cheek.

She closed her eyes. Took a deep breath.

“Do ye ken what Governor Tryon said to me, back in Wilmington?”

She swallowed, jaw tense. “Don’t change the subject.”

“He said that he could make arrangements for your accommodations in the town, for you to await me as I establish our new home.”

She pursed her lips.

He rubbed her chin with his thumb. “I thanked him, but said that there was no need. For my wife would travel with me, and help to establish our home.”

Now her eyes – stormy, fearful, and so beautiful they broke his heart – opened. Saying the words her mouth could not shape.

“I will *always* come home to you, Claire. Return to *this* home – our new home. The one we are building here together.”

She nodded. “I know. But you *must* teach me how to track.”

“I will,” he vowed. “Whatever ye wish to learn, I’ll gladly show ye.”

Her smile was unexpected, but so very welcome.

“Well then – how about a knitting lesson, one of these evenings? I could use some warm socks.”

She kissed his wide, sweet, surprised smile. So glad to be alive.


End file.
